


i have no mouth and i must scream

by morallyambiguous



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Sakura, Grief/Mourning, Haruno Sakura-centric, Multi, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5258732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morallyambiguous/pseuds/morallyambiguous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sakura closes the journal and turns off the lights, well aware of parallels to her own life, and unwilling to acknowledge them.  </p><p>She dreams of dismembered limbs and dusty pink hair stained thoroughly red with blood and of her father screaming at his attackers in a language he’d sung her to sleep with that she’d never understood.</p><p>She dreams of giant nine-tailed foxes crushing souls and spines between teeth as big as houses and scarecrows releasing their birds to feast on the bodies of their kills and a boy made out of black fire recreating himself in Amaterasu’s image.</p><p>She sleeps soundly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and i must scream

Sakura’s father never wanted her to become a kunoichi, for all that he and her mother are genin, he’s always been hesitant to support her.  It was the subject of many whispered conversations between her parents late at night.

Looking down at the caskets of her only family, Sakura misses those conversations.

Haruno Mebuki and Kizashi were two career genin who usually took missions escorting merchants, they could’ve become chunin had they both been born in Konoha, but it’s the unofficial policy that Konoha tries to keep its foreign born ninjas from actual village secrets that chunin might be exposed to.  But they’d been solid ninja, that much she knew, not the strongest, or the fastest, or the most powerful, but they knew what they were doing.

Sakura’s vindictively comforted by the fact that they not only completed their last mission, but took down five jonin with them.

If she doesn’t get to keep her parents, they don’t get to keep their lives.

The ceremony ends quietly, unbefitting of her parents, she thinks, remembering ridiculous arguments and loud laughter.  She walks back to an empty house before anyone can comfort her, taking back alleys and sticking to shadows.

She’s never felt more like a ninja.

Sakura’s always been the kind of girl to moderate her mood, showing the world only the good sides of her.  And even now she can’t let that part of her go long enough to cry.  It’s just easier to run away and not face anyone who would make her break down and let out how she really feels.

The door lock echoes in the silence and she throws herself back against the door.  She sinks to the floor.

Her parents are dead.

She fights the scream bubbling up from the back of her throat, biting her lip so hard that it bleeds.  She remembers the last time she screamed and knows that if she starts, she won’t ever stop.

Her parents are dead, and she must scream.

 

* * *

These things Sakura knows about her family:

  1. Her mother was the youngest of seven, three died in Uzushigakure when it fell, two died in the second shinobi war, one died the night of the Kyuubi attack, until it was only Mebuki left.

  2. For all that she had been born in Konoha, her parents hadn’t been.  She remembers sitting her down and telling her why they hoped one day she’d make it to at least chunin, something that had been outside of their reach as foreign born ninjas.  

  3. Her father shared his unusual coloring with the rest of his family, that is, of course, before they’d all been killed. *

  4. Before his hair had turned a dull sort of pink in his early 30s, her father’s hair had been red.  Blood red.  It had only turned pink, he used to joke, because he had finally washed the blood of his enemies out.

  5. Her mother had found that hilarious … other people … not so much. **

  6. Her father’s family had been traveling performers from beyond Mist, not even on the maps she’d learned at the Academy.  According to him they’d traversed the whole world, not just the five nations, and she could spend hours listening to him sing their songs and tell their stories. ***

  7. Her favorites had always been the tales of her father’s homeland, where his mother’s family had been from, farther away from where he’d settled than even Earth country.  A place of rolling hills and rain and green fields, haunted by wild hunts and seal women shedding their skins to live on land. ***




*  There’s a macabre sort of symmetry in her parents history that she’s heard them joke about before.  **

**  Black comedy had been surprisingly common among the mildly-named occupants of the Haruno household. ***

***  Sakura herself was the farthest thing from an exception to that rule.

 

* * *

She wakes herself up with the sound of her screaming, images of dismembered limbs and dusty pink hair stained thoroughly red with blood.  She tries to tell herself that it’s just her overactive imagination creating scenarios to explain the injuries she saw when she went to identify their bodies.

That’s not true.  Maybe if she was having different dreams, she’d believe it, but it’s the exact same dream every night.  And the dreams had started two days before she’d even known her parents were dead.  She’s been waking up screaming every night.

She puts the kettle on the stove, and lets the familiar motions of making tea bring her back to herself.  It’s still dark outside which makes the interior of her house darker, but she doesn’t turn the lights on as she pours water over loose tea.

She doesn’t need the light to illuminate the places where her parents aren’t anymore.

She looks out the window.  It’s not yet 4:00am.  She could get ready for school.

She doesn’t need to go, she could not go for weeks if she really wanted to.  No one will be expecting her, at least none of the teachers.  She doesn’t really have friends anymore, not since Ino, or at least no one close enough to burden with her feelings.  As far as her classmates are concerned, she’s just the same girl she was three days ago, before her parents were dead.

Thinking of the pitying looks that Sasuke-kun got for weeks after his family was killed and still gets now, she doesn’t think that she wants to tell anyone.  

She thinks she might understand him more now.  She understands Naruto-baka less.  Had there been more orphans in her class, she’d probably be comparing herself to them too.

She doesn’t want to spend the day at home, packing up her parent’s things and deciding whether or not to move to orphan housing.  She just wants her parents and to go back to the Sakura of three days ago; that’s never going to happen again.

She washes her cup, reminded of her father’s tales of bean-nighe washing the clothes of the soldiers next in line to die, and knows that she can’t stay in this house today. Nor tomorrow.  Nor any day really.  Her parent’s voices ring just outside the edges of her hearing, and she can’t do this.

She dries the cup and places it back in the cupboard.  It’s 4:15 now.

She reaches around her sadness, the pure emptiness that occupies the space in her heart reserved for her parents, and pushes it away to the same place she hides her anger.  It’s doing her no good now.  Her parents are dead, and she’s an orphan, and there is work that needs to be done.  All she really has left is her bones and her practicality.

She makes a list in her head: she needs to get ready, go to the Hokage about selling her house and moving to the orphan apartments, collect the bounties from her parents last kills, hire a genin team to move her items to storage.  She has so much to do and all she wants to do is lay in her bed and stare at her walls until she dies.  She pushes that thought away also.  She thinks of her screaming nightmares and adds a visit to the library; Iruka had mentioned sound-dampening seals once in class.

She bites her bottom lip, tearing the scab from the day before.

She needs to scream.

She runs a hand through her hair, roughly pulling at tangles.

She needs to get out of this damn house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this fic is going to go on forever, and it's going to have two main parts interspersed with like a background info interlude for each chapter (hopefully).


	2. orphan's ordeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakura closes the journal and turns off the lights, well aware of parallels to her own life, and unwilling to acknowledge them. 
> 
> She dreams of dismembered limbs and dusty pink hair stained thoroughly red with blood and of her father screaming at his attackers in a language he’d sung her to sleep with that she’d never understood.
> 
> She dreams of giant nine-tailed foxes crushing souls and spines between teeth as big as houses and scarecrows releasing their birds to feast on the bodies of their kills and a boy made out of black fire recreating himself in Amaterasu’s image.
> 
> She sleeps soundly.

Sakura returns to her life as an academy student with little fanfare.  No one even notices that anything’s different.  She avoids staying after class to prevent the sensei from trying to “talk” to her about her parent’s death.  She lets none of her school friends know that anything is wrong with her, and she moves into orphan housing.  

For a few blessed weeks she thinks that she can continue living her life the way she had before.  

And then the semi-annual evaluations happened.

 

* * *

She’d never had to worry about them before, for all that she knows how the bottom levels of the village hierarchy are set up and how many different types of specializations are needed to keep their village running smoothly, she never worried about what exactly she’d do when she graduated.  She thought she’d have time to figure that out.

Her paper grades were actually perfect all across the board, and while her physical scores weren’t fantastic, they were consistently just below or at average.  She had good aim, decent reflexes, flexibility in spades, but no real stamina, speed, or strength.  

She had set herself up to be a solid paper ninja, one who’d serve several years in the genin corps before being internally promoted to a desk job in intelligence, like Iruka-sensei had suggested to her earlier in the year.  Not exactly a show stopping career, but a decent and respectable one.

“Haruno-kun, you do know that six months after you become a full-fledged kunoichi, your orphan benefits will stop, right?”

And then Iruka-sensei had forced her to re-evaluate her entire life plan.  

“What.”

Iruka-sensei then had the nerve to look apologetic as if he hadn’t just ruined all of the plans she’d made for herself since she first entered the academy.

“I’m sorry, Haruno-kun, but once you are given your headband, you are officially an adult.  You’ll be making your own money, and the village can only afford to keep giving you the orphan benefits for so long once you are legally an adult.  The six month period exists so that you can get experience to work higher level missions, or get promoted.”

To Sakura it sounded a lot more like:

“Sorry you’re parents are dead, once you become a ninja that we pay and send out to kill or be killed, your dead parents are no longer our problem and we don’t feel sorry for you anymore.”

The anger bubbles viscous and hot in her stomach and she wants to scream death and destruction at him, but she pushes her anger away, just like she always has.  She bites her lip, to keep herself from screaming at him.

“I see.  And what do orphans normally do in these situations, Iruka-sensei?”  She keeps her voice light, like she’s having a conversation about the weather or what vegetables are in season.

“Normally, they either join one of the specialist corps, to start earning the bonuses.  Or they train to pass their first or second chunin exams.”

Sakura nods to show that she’s listening, not entirely sure that if she said something it would come out appropriate.

“You have great chakra control and a mind for puzzles, Haruno-kun, and I can get you in contact with someone from Intelligence and the Hospital.”  He leans in closer to her, lowering his voice.  “Now, normally, you’d have to wait until you graduated, but since we’re only a couple of months away from graduation and your grades have always remained fantastic, even after the situation with your parents, I’d be willing to let them waive the requirement.”  

Sakura struggles to keep her face neutral at the mentions of her parents death and manages only to fix him with a flat look telling him that the subject is not up for discussion.

It must be very effective because Iruka-sensei pales slightly.  He continues quickly, “You would have to attend some remedial strength and stamina training to raise your chakra levels, but I’d be willing to supervise that several times a week.”

“I’d be interested in that, Iruka-sensei, thank you for your time.”  

She leaves the room with contact information for Intelligence and the Hospital, as well as a schedule for remedial training with Iruka-sensei three times a week after class, feeling ten years older and her throat sore from not screaming at the unfairness of her life.

She realizes that she’s on the younger side of being 12 years old and she’s never even had one in her life, but she can’t escape the feeling that she really needs a drink.

 

* * *

Instead of getting a drink and no doubt falling into alcoholism like her wayward emotions are telling her, Sakura chooses to go home and go through her father’s stories, recorded in dozens of journals, and illustrated with delicate brush strokes by her mother.  

She has apparently not have enough emotional upheaval for the day.

She pulls out her favorite, the sharp edges of the journal having long since been made soft by repeated readings, and lets the familiar words and images wash over her.

She can hear her father’s voice starting the tale, soft but strong, taking on the accent of a faraway land,

_My great great grandfather was one of the greatest storytellers of his time, travelling over land and seas and telling his tales in exchange for the tales of the lands he travelled to.  He was so prolific that by the time he was of my age (twenty two years) he’d had several hundred volumes of tales and songs from his travels, that he’d return home in the winter to store at his family home._

_It was on one of these trips home, as he was travelling through a town north of his, Dalnacreich, to hear the tale of the mother of a changeling child that was said to live there, that he met my great great grandmother._

_She was a traveller also, but one who stuck to the hills and valleys of their homeland and only rarely ventured outside to the countries surrounding it._

_According to him it was love at first sight.  They returned to his home shortly, and were wed in the winter._

_My great grandmother was born that summer with hair as red as her newborn skin and eyes green like grass, looking like nothing but the spitting image of her mother._

_They went on to have twelve children, nine boys, and three girls, each child the spitting image of their mother._

_But it was only as the children got older that my grandfather realized there might be something different about his beloved bride._

_His eldest son died in a caravan accident when he was only six, but afterwards, his eldest daughter was never the same._

_She’d wake up the rest of the family in the middle of the night with howling screams several times a month, and he would go into town the following day and find out some tragedy had struck.  First it was the fisherman’s son, and then the blacksmith’s daughter, and then one of her own brothers._

_He knew something was wrong, and he had his own suspicions, so he laid a trap for his wife.  He went to the blacksmith one day and requested a new cooking pot, made entirely out of iron._

_He replaced the pot on their stove with the iron one and let his wife make them dinner._

_His wife and children became extremely sick, and the sound of his daughter’s screams filled the house for days as everyone lay sick in their beds._

_It was only then that he realized that while he had confirmed his suspicions, he had hurt not only the love of his life, but also his beloved children. He told his wife what he had done as she lay sick on their bed.  And she screamed and cursed him and came clean._

_It was true, she was a Bean Sidhe, whose wail foretold of coming death and she and her children were weakened by the iron pot she’d unknowingly cooked in._

_She’d wanted to tell him, but she loved him too much to risk him leaving her._

_And he forgave her._

_He forgave her and she smiled at him._

_And then she screamed._

_She screamed and screamed until her scream fell off into a death rattle, and she was gone._

_When he went to go tell his children of their mother’s passing, he found them all dead, all of them except his eldest daughter, who lay in bed, still sick and feverish, but alive._

_And he nursed her back to health, for seven days and seven nights, until she woke up on the last day, healthy and hale, and all he had left to remember his wife._

_He was never the same after the death of his wife and children, but he dedicatedly attended to his daughter for the rest of his life, and shared the story with her husband who shared it with his children and so on and so forth, so no one would ever make the mistake that he made._

Sakura closes the journal and turns off the lights, well aware of parallels to her own life, and unwilling to acknowledge them.  

She dreams of dismembered limbs and dusty pink hair stained thoroughly red with blood and of her father screaming at his attackers in a language he’d sung her to sleep with that she’d never understood.

She dreams of giant nine-tailed foxes crushing souls and spines between teeth as big as houses and scarecrows releasing their birds to feast on the bodies of their kills and a boy made out of black fire recreating himself in Amaterasu’s image.

She sleeps soundly.

 

* * *

So Sakura trains because she has to, because she wants to not die, and (she’ll never admit this) to spite a village that would make an orphan and leave it be.

She’s struck with the sudden realization that Konoha is not kind to her orphans, and she can almost feel the last of her innocence curling up and withering away.

 

* * *

Living in a ninja village is just a constant exchange of favors.  Iruka trades in favors (he has the most, he’s trained the past five years graduating classes) and on a cold day in December, Sakura finds herself at the gates of the Nara compound.

She’s never had reason to be in this part of town, her parents choosing to live in a civilian home, and the old growth of the forest is more impressive to her than even the opulence of the Hyuuga.

She looks at the trees, some the size of her, and others towering over her by dozens of meters.  For all the she tries not to think of her parents in her day-to-day life, she can’t help but feel that this is a place her father would have told stories about.  On the edges of her vision she almost see shadows beyond the trees larger and more vicious than any deer the trees might grant shelter.

She feels vaguely as if she is encroaching upon their territory, as if she needs to ask permission.  She scoffs for a moment, resolving to walk past the forest to the main house.  

But part of her thinks of her father and how you only get the one warning before you end up dead or worse.  Every culture has their own fair folk, and you never want to make them angry.

So she takes a detour into the forest, not realizing that there are eyes, human eyes, on the bright beacon of her pink hair, watching her go into a part of the forest that some of the Nara don’t even don’t dare go into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we get into sakura trying to get back to the way her life was before and iruka-sensei correcting her assumptions, because she's almost a legal adult and will have to provide for herself. she reads one of the more important stories that her father recorded (what happened to the no doubt hundreds of journals from the rest of her family??? we'll find out later). she's having weird ass dreams. again. and ignoring the very obvious conclusion. again. i really hope you all get where i'm going with this, because i'm not gonna actually punch you in the face with what's going on with her until later on. her faith in konoha is shaken. and not to mention on her way to talk about her intelligence training, she gets distracted by the nara's creepy forest. 
> 
> so... i think this is a good starting point.
> 
> also if anyone's interested, all of the chapter titles are either the names of tropes from tvtropes that have to do with the contents of the chapter/are foreshadowing. so there's that.
> 
> if you want to follow me on tumblr, my url is morallyunequivocal.tumblr.com


	3. the darkness gazes back

Ghost lights are caused by the gasses of rotting organic material rising and catching flame in midair.  Normally seen in swamps and also noted for showing up near dead bodies and more rarely showing up in old growth forests, near the corpses of rotting trees.

Sakura knows this completely scientific explanation, and is forced to admit that humans explaining ghost lights with science is a lot like the blind leading the blind.

(She doesn’t know this yet, but in the coming months she’ll feel that way very often.)

For all the darkness she’d seen looking into the Nara forest, she’s surprised at how bright it is once she’s actually entered it.  The blue lights dance around  her ankles and she’s lead in a sort of stumbling dance deeper into the forest as she tries to avoid stepping on them.

He father had told her that every story he told her had its own basis in reality.

She’d never realized that he meant it so literally.

The fires taper off suddenly and she’s left in total darkness.  Despite that, her nerves are screaming at her.  There is something watching her.

Many somethings.

Her fingers itch toward her kunai pouch, but she doesn’t draw one.  She won’t.  She’s more than aware that whatever lives in this forest could wipe her from existence without a thought.  Forests don’t grow this old without some sort of guardian. 

If she didn’t already have a firm grasp of her own mortality and weakness she would’ve balked at this.  As it is, she’s rightly terrified.

“Who’s there?” She calls.

Thousands of tiny yellow eyes stare back at her, and she deeply regrets asking.

She regrets it even more when the ghost lights come back and light up the face of a man holding a sword at her throat.  There’s a sternness to his face, and familiarity in how he’s dressed that bring to mind bedtime stories and her mother’s voice.  Deer flock around him reverently and the ghost lights dance around his head lighting up the whole clearing.

She knows who this is and falls to her knees in a deep, trembling bow.

This is how Sakura meets a god.

 

* * *

Haruno Kizashi would say he fell in love with Mebuki the first time he heard her tell a story. 

They were sixteen years old, him a refugee fleeing his family’s murderers and her a refugee from Uzushiogakure, fresh off the deaths of her three brothers, the only two people their age in the refugee camp slowly stumbling its way to Konoha.

They’d set up camp that night and she watched as he pulled out a small brush, wrapped in cloth, then an inkwell, also wrapped tightly in cloth, before pulling out a red journal, dusting off it’s leather cover, before painstakingly beginning to write in calm strokes.

She walked over to him, sitting back against a tree on the far edge of the encampment, his weapon of choice ( _A scythe,_ she notices) leaning next to him.  None of the others have spoken to him, wary of his foreign appearances and mannerisms. 

Never let it be said that Kuebiko Mebuki was afraid of new things.  Of new knowledge.

So she plops herself down next to this foreign stranger and asks him “What are you writing?”

“A story my mother used to tell me.”  He shrugged, “According to her, the local godde-kami used to lead hunts through our lands with her court. And if anyone not of our family tried to hunt on the land, she'd curse them.”  He scratched at the strange star shape of his hair. “I mean, obviously, it's a little more involved than that, but that's the gist.”

“That reminds me of the Nara.” Mebuki hummed, finally sitting down next to him.

“The who?” He asked.

She looked up, praying to her family's namesake for patience. “You don't know who the Nara are? Where are you even from?”

He shrugged, “Past Mist, you've probably never heard of it. I'm only seeking asylum in  Konoha because my mother still has some family there. I've never been myself.”

“Well,” she said haughtily, if she'd needed glasses, she would've pushed them up her nose. “The Nara are a clan from Konoha that have been on their land for centuries, they and their deer were apparently the ones who planted all the trees that make “The Village Hidden in the Leaves” a village hidden in the leaves.  But that's not the point. The point is the story and the story goes that the Nara were once under siege from one of their enemies for seven days and seven nights-”

He laughed, “Always with the seven days and seven nights, huh?”

She laughed in return, “Yeah, I guess. Now, shush and let me finish. So they'd fended off their attackers for seven days and seven nights, but they were tiring and running out of both weapons and food, with no end to the fighting in sight. They were desperate.”

“So the matriarch of the clan, Yoshino Nara, prayed to their patron kami, Takemikazuchi, the kami of thunder and swords. She begged on her knees as they headed into their eighth day of battle.”

“As she prayed, the battle raged on and a storm began brewing. Unbeknownst to the warriors and their matriarch, one of their enemies had snuck into the Nara compound, looking to strike where they were weakest.”

“Yoshino’s husband, Shikaku, had been injured on the battlefield early in the morning hours, and she was praying to their patron by his bedside. The spy snuck up behind her and held a knife to her neck preparing to kill her, when suddenly his head was struck from his shoulders.”

“They looked over to see Takemikazuchi astride a white deer, his blade bloodied and prepared for battle.”

“Come with me, child, and we shall smite those who would desecrate our land!”

“Shikaku stood up, suddenly healed, and Takemikazuchi led him and his men into battle, finally defeating their enemy.” Mebuki finished.

Kizashi fell in love.

 

* * *

 

Sakura trembles on the ground, blasé reaction to the fantastical blown to pieces in the face of an actual God. 

There are kelpies and kitsune and kappas and then there are gods.

Takemikazuchi reaches down and tilts her head up to look him in the eyes. “Pray tell, child, what one of the Morrigan’s children is doing visiting my own?”

Looking into his eyes, Sakura is aware of how very inhuman the being she's dealing with is, and how easily he could thoroughly destroy her.

“I’m asking for safe passage, Takemikazuchi-sama. I've come to learn from Shikaku-sama.”

The God scoffs. “And why have you come into my woods?”

She flinches, trying not to look weak and failing. She puts her head down. “I didn't want to trespass.” 

The blade bites into her neck slightly, just on the edge of drawing blood.  “Well at least you know how to respect your elders.” He lowers his sword from her neck.

She falls to the ground, shaking.

“You have my blessing to roam my lands as long as you promise me and mine no harm.” He says, “I look forward to seeing how a Morrigan's child will fare so far from home.”

His overwhelming presence leaves and she can breathe again.

Ghost lights hover around her head, making soft cooing noises. Without thinking, she pets one, hand passing over the blue flame. The cooing turns into a purr and suddenly she's surrounded by hundreds of lights, and the clearing is bright as day. She can finally see what he eyes she'd been so terrified of were.

They are quite possibly the cutest things she's ever seen.

Little balls of soot, distinguished from regular spot by big bright yellow eyes. “Susuwatari.”

One came closer and pushed at her hand, also eager for pets, until she's almost buried under a pile of susuwatari and ghost lights floating above her head.

The situation is so ridiculous and relaxing in the face of meeting a God who could've killed her and finding out that all her parent’s stories are real that she laughs.

It's not a pretty laugh. Heaves and snorts and deep gasps when she needs to catch her breath, until she's crying hysterically, tears are streaming down her face and she can't breathe.

Because, gods, her parents are dead and the stories were real.

She cries and screams and kicks and yells, covered head to toe in cooing susuwatari and ghost lights.

Her parents are dead.

And the stories are real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the ball is starting to get rolling. it's going to be more of a snowball than a baseball, all the little things are being set into motion now and as time goes on they'll be adding up.
> 
> just a note for people who might recognize them, the susuwatari are the soot sprites from spirited away. i'm heavily implying that they are what happen when the ghost fires die out. because i can and they are cute. the ghost fires resemble a cross between calcifer from howl's moving castle and the wil o' wisps from brave. both are adorable and meant to lighten the mood.
> 
> also if anyone's interested, all of the chapter titles are either the names of tropes from tvtropes that have to do with the contents of the chapter/are foreshadowing. so there's that.
> 
> if you want to follow me on tumblr, my url is morallyunequivocal.tumblr.com


	4. blue and orange morality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because he is a false person does not mean he is not a false person on her side. She’s aware of what it’s like to not be able to take off your mask, and perhaps his missions require this false persona of him (she’s more than aware that no one in her class knows about her parents or her training or the dreams or the screaming, she’s going to keep it that way). 
> 
> This, she allows herself, does not mean that she won’t keep an eye on him, just that she won’t do anything until she has solid proof.

She shoots up, causing susuwatari to fall on the ground around her.  She’s not entirely sure how, but they manage to look disgruntled despite the fact that they only have two eyes.

She bows to them in apology (feeling slightly ridiculous, but well aware of the deal she’d made with Takemikazuchi) before turning on her heel and sprinting toward the Nara main house. 

Dark eyes watch her frantic run from the forest to the main house, wiping at the tear tracks on her face and patting at the soot that’s stuck to her dress.

She knocks on the door, cringing at how bad of an impression this will make.  “Punctuality,” Iruka-sensei always reminds them, “saves lives.”  She looks down at her dress.  Sensei has also been known to say “cleanliness is next to godliness” from time to time. 

She’s setting such a great example.

She bows when Shikaku opens the door and slips off her sandals before following him to his office.

“I apologize for being late Nara-san.  I assure you it won’t happen again.”  She bows again, her hair brushing the floor, and hopes he’ll accept her apology and still allow her to study under him.

She can’t see it, but he quirks a single black eyebrow before smiling at her.  “You’re right on time, Haruno-san, no need to apologize. Please sit.”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide, “But I left…?!”  She bites her lip; _I was in that forest for hours._ She blushes, “I mean, my apologies again, Nara-san my clock must’ve been running fast.”

“Umino-sensei sent me copies of your grades and informed me of your… circumstances.”  She looks him straight in the eyes and tries not to flinch at the reminder.  Based on the raised eyebrow he hasn’t put down since they started their conversation, she is far from successful.  “Your circumstances aren’t entirely rare, and we have done things like this before.  So I see no reason why we can’t take you in… on a probationary basis.  We can’t actually let you into the intelligence building until you become a genin, but,” he pauses and puts a stack of books and papers a meter high on his desk, “we can give you a couple declassified psych profiles and mission parameters, as well as several books on psychology and tactics from our archives.”  He shrugs, “It’s not much, but it’s more than you’ll find in the library.”

Sakura feels an old familiar thrill looking at the papers. For all that she’s picked up on her physical training, it isn’t exactly her strong suit.

But studying?

Studying is an old friend.

“Thank you.”   She says smiling.  Her eyes are still red and puffy and her dress is still covered in soot, but she appreciates the familiar ground.

She reaches from the stack of papers, but there’s a knock at the door.  Whoever it is doesn’t bother waiting before kicking the door open.

It’s Shikaku’s wife, carrying yet another meter of papers.

… Sakura’s enthusiasm wanes.

She drops the stack on top of the ones Shikaku had pulled out and turns to Sakura.  Despite her smile (and it was a _nice_ smile), Sakura was suddenly aware of how ragged she looks.

“This is Yoshino, my wife, she runs a different segment of my division.”

Sakura smiles back, not quite meeting Yoshino’s eyes.  Yoshino was smiling, but there was a weight behind it.  Sakura had been hunted enough by pretty girls with _nice_ smiles as a young girl to know when she was being judged.  She darts a look at Yoshino’s eyes.

She amends her opinion, not judged.  Measured. 

Not necessarily better.

It was the same measured gaze she’d received from Takemikazuchi. 

Yoshino, apparently having found what she was looking for, lets her face relax into a genuine smile and Sakura relaxes in turn.

“I run a different, specialized, department, and when Shikaku mentioned that he was letting you in on a probationary basis, I recognized your name.  Your father did some consultations for us and you’re definitely his daughter.”

Sakura blushes under the faint praise.  She doesn’t know if she loves or hates that distinction, because, as she’s learning, there’s a lot more to being her father’s daughter than she previously thought.

Shikaku sighs and shakes his head.  “Troublesome woman.” And the remaining tension of the quasi-interview breaks.  Instead of seeing only the head of the Nara clan and the director of Konoha’s Intelligence division, she sees the father of one of her classmates.  One who’s always sleeping, even when he’s being yelled at by Iruka-sensei for it.

“I was going to have you write up some team assignments and bring them back next week, but…”

Sakura looks at the pile and back to him. _What._

“Since Yoshino’s also given you some assignments, we can meet again in two weeks.”

_What._

Sakura gets the impression that she’s not hiding her disbelief well.

She leaves the Nara house unable to see over the stack of papers she’s carrying and feeling like she’s been hit by an Akimichi.

 

* * *

 

Sakura drops the papers on her desk once she gets home.  Her arms are shaking from the strain of carrying them for so long.  She’s frustrated by herself, wanting to get stronger faster, but reminds herself that even the Hokage mountain wasn’t carved in a day.

She considers eating, opens the fridge even to see what’s inside.  Nothing but spoiled food that she’d bought last week, intending to cook and never ate.  She notes that she needs to clean out her fridge, and maybe lighten her shopping list.

She tugs her hair back, almost wincing at how some of the strands pull at her scalp and lays face down on her bed.  She has the overwhelming urge to scream.

After a few incessant ticks of her clock, she gives in, screaming into her pillow until her voice is hoarse.  She doesn’t notice when she starts crying again, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself.

She lays still on her bed when she’s done, dehydrated, panting, and sore.

And then, like she’s done time and time again, she collects herself, takes a shower, changes her clothes, wipes cold cloths on her face to calm the redness, downs a glass of water and another of tea.

She still has things to do today, meet with a hospital supervisor, train with Iruka-sensei on top of more mundane things like getting groceries and doing the laundry. 

She moves her pillow to make her bed and notices that there’s now a giant hole ripped through the middle, scattering feathers and fabric all over her bedspread.  She strips her sheets and throws them in the wash.

As she locks the door behind her she makes a note to pick up another pillow while she’s out.

 

* * *

Yakushi-sensei reminds her of Iruka-sensei in the best way.  He seems a nice man with laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, a soft smile on his face, and soft eyes looking at her over his glasses. The meeting is less stressful than her last but no less filled with papers to study.

“The hospital has a sort of litmus test for incoming medics.”  He says.  “To begin training or even just shadowing a medic you need to pass that test.  We would, of course, provide you with study materials and such— “

A knock at the door.  That seemed to be the theme for the day.

Yakushi-sensei lights up and tells the knocker to come in.

A young man in his late teens opens the door and Sakura feels her skin begin to crawl, whoever the boy-man is, he does not deserve the genuine affection being directed towards him.  He can’t return it.  Everything about him screams false in the most dangerous way (idly, behind her lizard-brained reaction to him she wonders if his silver hair color is fake too).

“My son, Kabuto, will take you down to the library and set you up with the study materials you’ll need.”  He hands her a slip of paper, “This will allow you temporary access to the library.  It’ll last three months.  You can take the test up to three times, so if you end up needing to extend it, please don’t hesitate to ask, Haruno-san.”

She bows, keeping her shoulders low and her breathing even, despite the very real danger that she feels.  “Thank you, Yakushi-sensei.”

“You’re welcome Haruno-san, if you have any future questions or needs, please go to Kabuto, he supervises the intro program.” 

Sakura smiles and nods in understanding, letting herself be dismissed and following Kabuto down the hall.  She curses Yakushi-sensei’s ancestors, his mother’s ancestors, and his grandmother’s ancestors in her mind.

She quietly follows him down to the library, watches him charm the librarian and the pull the books she needs from the shelves.  She does not say one word to this man-boy who is wrong and false and makes her skin crawl because whoever he says he is; he is not that.  She wants to scream, if only to send him far away from her, but she doesn’t.

Just because he is a false person does not mean he is not a false person on her side.  She’s aware of what it’s like to not be able to take off your mask, and perhaps his missions require this false persona of him (she’s more than aware that no one in her class knows about her parents or her training or the dreams or the screaming, she’s going to keep it that way).  This, she allows herself, does not mean that she won’t keep an eye on him, just that she won’t do anything until she has solid proof.

Kabuto hands her the last book.  She tries to take it from him, but his fingers tighten around the spine so she can’t.  She looks at him, mildly surprised.

( _fake. false. liar._

Shut up.)

“Is something wrong, Yakushi-senpai?”

He smiles at her, looking at her over the rims of his glasses, and if she’d been anyone else she would’ve been charmed.  As it is, she tries not to shudder.

“Please.  Call me Kabuto-san.  From what my father’s told me, we’ll probably be working together soon.”

She tries not to grimace.  She is unsuccessful.

He smiles at her.  “Please don’t be embarrassed, the village could always use more medics.”

Oh kami, he was condescending.  She wants to scream at him.  Maybe it’d be a repeat of her pillow.

Hopefully it would be.

Sakura crushes that line of thought, burying it next to her feelings about her parents’ deaths and what she’d like to do to her childhood bullies.

She nods. “Thanks, Kabuto-san.”  The words taste like ash in her mouth.

There is a shift in his expression that she can’t quite follow.

“Perhaps you’d like some help carrying all your materials home? There is quite a lot of them.”

Sakura does not want this false man anywhere near her home. She doesn’t want to invite him into her dwelling.  There are too many stories about the kind of ending people who invited strangers into their homes meet.  She has a feeling that Kabuto would want a lot more than just her blood.

“No thank you, Kabuto-san.”  She aims for genuinely apologetic and probably falls somewhat near embarrassed and uncomfortable. “I only just have enough time to drop off these books before my meeting with Iruka-sensei.  It would be rude of me to force you to run back home with me and not at least invite you in for tea.  I do appreciate your offer though.”

Do not offer and open invitation, do not thank him, but do not be outright rude.  Don’t hurt his feelings, _you shouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, Sakura-chan,_ an echo of her mother’s voice rings.

She bows slightly to him and turns on her heel, peeling out the door faster than a walk but just barely slower than a run, trying not to give away that she was running away from him.  She swears that she feels his eyes on her back until she’s down the block. 

It feels like snakes nipping at her heels.

She passes by Ichiraku Ramen and sees Naruto eating there.  He waves and yells her name, but is enjoying his ramen too much to actually run up and bother her.

She hunches her shoulders a bit more and ignores him.  She walks home a little bit faster.

 

* * *

“Sakura, stop it! It’s not funny!”

Sakura tries to stop laughing, she really does.  She covers her mouth to try to stop the giggling but that only seems to make it worse.  She can’t breathe for laughter.

Her father grabs her by her shoulders.  “Sakura, you need to stop right now!”  His grip is tight.  Within seconds bruises form.

He looks her straight in her eyes, green eyes reflecting an edge of fear and she’s not laughing anymore.

“Stop tou-chan, it hurts!”

He lets her go, backing away several meters with a quickness.

“Your kaa-san hurts too, Sakura.”

Mebuki cradles her burnt hand under the cold stream of water from the faucet, looking warily from father to daughter and back again.

Sakura tilts her head to look at Mebuki, studying her.  Pink locks partially obstruct sea glass eyes and Mebuki has never felt more unsettled by her toddler’s unfeeling intelligence than she does at that moment.

She looks searchingly at Kizashi, wanting an explanation, but he doesn’t look back at her.  There’s a tone in his voice and a shift in his body that tells her he expected this, dreaded it maybe, but expected it none the less.

Sakura blinks, “Sakura’s sorry kaa-san?”  She doesn’t sound sure.  They’ve raised such a polite child.  Sakura hugs her waist and Mebuki blinks back sudden tears because something is not _right_ with her daughter.

Sakura looks up at her, “But why does kaa-san hurt like Sakura? Kaa-san is not Sakura.”

Kizashi collects himself and crouches down to look Sakura in the eyes.  He doesn’t flinch when she moves away from him and burrows into her mother’s skirt. He does keep his hands where she can see them.

“You know how you feel when you get hurt?  That’s how kaa-san feels when she gets hurt.”

Sakura pouts, rubbing at her arms, “But Sakura hurts more!”

“You don’t know that Sakura-chan.” He said.  “She’s _your_ kaa-san, so she hurts like you.”

Sakura looks thoughtful, turning her head to look at one of her shoulders and then to her mother, still holding her hand under the faucet, and back again.

“Sakura’s sorry that she hurt Sakura’s kaa-san.  Sakura won’t do it again.” She reaches up on tiptoes to kiss her mother’s wrist, tiny lips just barely reaching the edge of the burn. 

Mebuki hisses softly but lets her, eyes boring into her husband’s ridiculous star shaped hair.

He ignores her, focusing on their daughter.  “That’s very good, Sakura-chan, but you were rude to kaa-san, which means…”

Sakura huffs, “Sakura has to go sit in Sakura’s room…”

He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“…And think about what Sakura’s done.”  She scuffs her toe against the floor.  Otherwise she doesn’t move.

“Now. Sakura.”

She drags her feet up the stairs.

“What the hell was that Kizashi?”  Kaa-san’s loud voice breaks the brief silence of the Haruno house.

There’s no answer, just the clicking of glasses and cabinets being rummaged through.  Sakura’s nose wrinkles as she smells something strong smelling from the kitchen and she picks up her pace.

The argument goes on for the rest of the night.


End file.
